Prone
by DollyPop12
Summary: She shouldn't have blared her healing wavelength to prevent his nightmares, shouldn't have raced in front of him, fought alone. She shouldn't have leaked blood into the dust of Deadwood. The mission wasn't supposed to go belly up but it did, and he holds so tightly to stability, to her. He doesn't know what face he's wearing that day, but he hopes it's one that can keep her alive.
1. When The World Gets Cold

_"When it all falls, when it all falls down I'll be your fire when the lights go out.  
When there's no one, no one else around we'll be two souls in a ghost town."  
~Madonna_

* * *

It had been two weeks. Only fourteen days of proper sleep in the house after a near month of Marie waking up in the middle of the night to Stein's frantic shrieking. Two weeks since she would nearly trip over the blankets that bunched around her legs in order to rush into the lab, his desk where he was slumped, ready to calm his thrashing, to press her glowing hands against any skin he had exposed. Hand to neck, to wrists, to cheeks, skimming over the unlaundered material of the labcoat and turtleneck he fell asleep in, since he never rested willingly.

Two weeks since he would wake up after she drove away those nightmares, gasping, unable to remain in slumber regardless of how gentle she was, to take in multiple deep breaths. Two weeks since he would slam his palms to his face, checking to make sure that he woke as himself instead of some clown or a ghoul or a creature with a twisted caricature for a face.

When he woke from those nightmares, it always took a second for him to remember who he was. For that entire month, he felt sure that he wouldn't ever truly wake up: that some other fragment would simply emerge from the dream and he would be locked away from the world forever as punishment. He wouldn't arise as Stein or Franken, that was certain to him.

It had been two weeks since Marie'd had enough. He only had one bedroom: one bed, too, for that matter. He'd never even really used it which was why there was dust on the sheets when she moved in. It'd been two weeks since Marie told him; not screaming or hollering, but in a soft, deadly voice; that she would drag him onto that bed via force and smother him with the pillow until he was unconscious if she had to, so help her Death.

She did the first few days, too. Drag him, that is. Were he at his best, she'd never have the chance. She was strong, but he knew how to put up a fight, and in a power struggle he could at least get away. But he was just so damn tired.

Only a few days after that did she ask if he could just go to bed willingly. If he was feeling more like himself, he'd lick at his chapped lips and make some smartass response about how they didn't have contraception.

A hollow joke, but a joke nonetheless.

Yet, he'd been staring into nothing, ash on his lab-coat, his hair greasy. She was on her knees in front of him since he was sitting on the floor, leaning onto his wall, and his eyes flicked over her. She looked like she was pleading. Or praying.

Marie was tired too. He saw it in her very soul. But he hadn't known how to respond verbally. He knew she was helping, of course. And there was the comfort of the bed and also the routine of it all that was keeping him grounded. She'd find him sometime at night, a normal hour usually, and try to coax him with warm beverages and some small talk, direct him to the room, curl next to him, and filter her wavelength into him until he felt safe and the shadows didn't stretch their mouths open to swallow him. As though he were some child, afraid of the demons in the dark.

He didn't answer her when she'd asked, when she was praying to him on her knees, but later that night, he was already on his side of the bed. When she went looking for him, his back was to her. Waiting.

It'd been two weeks. He wasn't any better, but he hadn't gotten worse, which was progress simply because it wasn't retrograde. It was her job to keep him tethered to reality, and he holds so tightly to it, to her, as though she brings oxygen and he were a drowning man. He feels as if he has to indulge her.

Now, he is left on her purple couch in his living room, closing his eyes behind his glasses when he hears the tell-tale click of her boots on his floors. She's come to collect her mental patient for his bedtime, he thinks sarcastically. He at least finds amusement in the fact that she couldn't be covert even if she tried, not with him. He'd heard her complain about the lack of carpeting when she called Azusa, probably wanting to sneak up on him and retaliate for all the times he'd scared the ever-loving hell out of her.

It felt strange to be so accustomed to another person. She was a temporary fixture in his life. (Was she? Really?) Yes. All of it was. All of it was supposed to be but he was sitting on a sofa he had no intentions of getting rid of and the pillows smelled of her. The medicine cabinet in the bathroom, that once truly did hold medicines, was full with various lotions and soaps she'd slowly collected.

She'd bought multiple flower pots. It was starting to feel more permanent than he had ever expected, and he was annoyed at himself that he welcomed it. The lab would just feel unnatural again, and unfamiliar if he couldn't close his eyes and feel the heat of her soul brimming past the walls to touch his.

He thinks, even if he didn't have soul perception, he'd be able to feel her soul anywhere. She all but carved it into his. The thought was immediately twisted in his mind: whispers of how she was getting him used to her, ( _dependant_ , it spat, **domestic** ) only to rip it away from him.

He wondered what it would feel like when it did rip away. For it was always when. When, not if. The winning part of him asked if he'd be able to feel her soul when it left her body, even when she was halfway around the world. Or would it happen in battle, when they were still resonating? Not much research had been done on that. What was found was that the remaining partner never lasted for long. It was as if their dying weapon or Meister, still resonating with them, took chunks out of the soul that survived.

He was a scientist: wouldn't he want to know firsthand how that felt? Hell, maybe he'd do it himself, too lost in the madness to realize he was murdering her.

His teeth grit onto his cigarette, grinding and grinding until his canines threatened to tear it to pieces in his mouth as his fingers twitched and dug into his thigh. He reached up with a free arm and yanked his bolt down and back, welcoming the spike of pain.

"Franken?" Marie called out, poking her head into the room. Even with his eyes closed, he could envision her scowl at the smoke. He knew it was just another method of showing her concern for him, but it irritated him in that moment. He always blew it away from her general direction and she never tore his cigarette from his mouth to stomp on it with her high-heeled boots, no matter how much she wanted to.

It was a delicate balancing act with the two of them in regards to his cancer sticks.

But, for once, she didn't make a comment when she saw him smoking on the couch, staring into the back of his eyelids, his hand in a vice grip on his thigh, a wince on his face. She didn't know what was behind his eyes, or in front of them most of the time. The madness could produce terrible thoughts and visions: horrors she could only think about.

Nightmares. Death, those _nightmares_.

So she brought it upon herself to make sure he wasn't alone, even though she thought he didn't want her around sometimes. Most of the time.

 _(She doesn't even know if that's true. She's constantly treading upon slick, slippery ground with Stein. One moment he can be himself, goofy and charmless and frank, and the next: aimless. Lost. She ached for him so purely in those times. In all times.)_

Marie knew Stein missed being by himself. She doesn't think it's because he hates people, (though he kind of does) but because he wanted to get back to the point where he could trust himself. She looked at him, wanting to cull out every beautiful thing she had inside of her to lay upon the feet of whatever was ailing him: _'Here,'_ she'd say, _'Just take it. Just take it. And go.'_

For now, she could do little more than show him that she trusted him enough for the both of them. That she was there for him. So she readjusted her hold on the beaker and her teacup and padded over to him.

"I brought tea," she said softly, coming to stand in front of him. She was prepared to bring him from the edge of a fit, her nerves steeling.

But they had no need. He forced down everything he was feeling, chewing on the filter of his cigarette. After a moment, he lazily opened his eyes, releasing his grip on his thigh and bolt so both of his hands could rest on the couch cushions. He balanced the cigarette on his lips, blowing the smoke out through his nose.

"Tea or coffee?" he asked, making sure it came out casual.

"Oh, hush," she pouted, relaxing. It was all so false, but make-believe could be better than reality, sometimes. "It was one time. Tea."

He only sat up and scooted forward slightly to grab the beaker she was offering. He flashed back to the apple of a nightmare long past, but it was gone as quickly as it came. He wasn't really in the mood for tea, but Marie made it, so he would drink it.

Once the glassware was given over, Marie used her free hand to tuck a blonde lock of hair behind her ear as they drank. "I was actually wondering if you wanted to watch TV when we're done. I've finished grading papers."

Papers, he remembered. That's right. He was a teacher. He had responsibilities. How long had he simply sat there, staring into the maw of something sticky and hopeless? They had a mission tomorrow; they had to drop their stack of grades and lesson plans and assignments off to Sid in early, ungodly morning and-

"I finished your stack, too," Marie added knowingly, letting some amusement colour her voice. He blinked at her, taking a deep sip from his beaker.

"I'm sorry," he said, knowing that any exams and homework she read from his class of eccentric students was enough to threaten even Marie's sanity.

"Eh, it was fine. Patty made another giraffe. It was actually pretty impressive. A shame you don't teach art: she's a genius at that." She paused. "Some of the splotches could be on the correct answer, if you squinted. I gave her a D+."

Stein nodded. "Good choice. I approve," he commented, finding her responding giggle oddly pleasant, calming.

"I'm glad I can get the great Doctor Franken Stein's approval," she said, looking at him playfully as she set a hand on where her waist dipped. His eyes followed the motion. "But, if you will, the discovery channel has a documentary about mammals... predators, I think. You're waiting for that Bengal tiger to come in, right? I thought the show would be right up your alley."

He felt his eyebrows climb up. "Yes," he said, slightly dumbfounded. He didn't think she'd get so desperate to placate him. He knew it was because of the mission they were assigned to. She needed him flexible, compliant to her.

When he finished with his drink, he set the beaker on the table in front of him, ensuring he would get it in the morning. He brought his left ankle to his right knee so he could scrape out the cherry of his cigarette against the bottom of his shoe. Marie'd bought, as well as made him, multiple ashtrays, but the one they usually kept in their living room (which was only declared fit for living after Marie dragged in that bright purple sofa) was missing after a particularly bad wave of madness swept over him a few days ago, forcing him to fall to the table, sweeping everything off of it to the floor.

The handmade ashtray had tumbled down, smashing and skittering everywhere. After he'd calmed, Marie rocked on the balls of her feet, making a passing comment that she might find the pieces and glue them back together. It would give her a chance to draw stitches over the seams, too.

He had told her it would be all too much work: things broken that badly and scattered so far, shattered, were irreparable. She had only looked at him sadly.

He was sure she would find or create another one to replace it. Even then, as he jabbed out his cigarette, she was probably reminded.

She didn't hold her hand out to him to help him up after she finished with her tea, but she did smile at him softly as they moved to the bedroom, the only room with the TV. It was, surprisingly, not as awkward as he would have assumed, sleeping in the bed, though it was massively unfamiliar. He didn't have many inhibitions after he had the pleasure of waking up from a dream that _didn't_ involve having to push his intestines back into his torso as though he were playing Anatomical Tetris.

He became plenty passive to sleeping next to Marie in the luxury of such peace.

Stein all but forgot about the television. He hadn't used it in the past since he wasn't really one for sitting and mindlessly watching things. His excuse back then was so that he could look over the news, but he never really did. Marie was surprised that the box even worked, what with Stein's lack of use. Sometimes, in the near past when he felt more in control, he recorded his dissections and played them back on the TV, but that was the extent of it.

She hadn't tossed those tapes either, like most would. Instead, she stacked them neatly and even labeled them for him. He knew because she locked them up along with the shaving razors recently. It was a useless move and they both knew it: she couldn't hide all his scalpels, and there were always mirrors to break. He'd learned everything was a weapon if you were creative enough. But she tried. She didn't want him hurting himself.

Again.

She spent so much time attaching herself to his soul, weaving them together, that it was unthinkable for him to snap and hurt _her_. It was already unthinkable for a Meister to harm his weapon, but for a Meister-Weapon pair like them, with a dynamic like theirs: where he leaned upon her so heavily, a man needing the crutch of her humanity?

But everything was getting worse. It was taking more effort on Marie's part to keep him grounded and she was growing haggard. It was harder for Stein to keep from ripping at things and he'd gotten even more jaded about life than before. It was clearly thinkable, now.

He already thought of it.

He was downright yearning for the discovery channel. With the madness intensifying, he took any excuse to rid his mind of the poison and fear. For now, being around Marie while watching mind-numbing documentaries was enough. Though, as they walked, he realized that she intensified her wavelength for him despite how tired she seemed. It felt strange to notice it.

He had some peculiar feelings for Marie, a fact brought to the front of his mind by the sheer happiness he felt when he saw how hard she was trying for him. But he couldn't quite dissect whether that emotion was for her or her wavelength.

He doesn't think either answer would be fair to her.

When they reached the room, she slipped out of her shoes and scooped up the pre-folded clothes she'd left on the (her? his?... their?) bed.

"I'll just be a second, Franken," she told him, staring into his face for a few seconds longer than most would consider appropriate. When she realized, she simply stepped around and walked to the bathroom to change. It was relatively late: late enough for pajamas, though Stein's idea of pajamas mostly consisted of taking his shirt, pants, and shoes off.

Since he was used to sleeping wherever he was working, he usually didn't bother removing the clothes he wore day-to-day, but when he took the time to prepare for bed, he was fonder of less. One would think that Marie would have no qualms about a human body, especially since her wavelength worked best on him if it was filtered in skin-to-skin. But she'd thrown the most transparent fit about manners and propriety and how she was a lady and that they weren't even married. They'd settled on him at least wearing pants.

It was _jus_ t a body: bone, muscle, tissue. Way too many stitches and wounds he kept prying open, raised at the edges. Though he understood why _Marie_ would be flustered.

He had started to keep a few of his things in the set of drawers because of her insisting he wear something less indecent (tempting, she means. He nearly snickered at the thought). So he had to follow her rules of propriety, not having much excuse to remain in his slacks, turtleneck, and labcoat when other clothing was so close in reach. He simply threw the articles on her desk, once also his.

He turned to kneel down in front of the drawers, reaching into the very bottom for a pair of soft workout pants, having already taken the courtesy to click the door shut to change. They had an agreement that he didn't lock any doors, not anymore, but he still closed them to indicate he was there. Rooms uninhabited were left open.

She knocked, every time, regardless.

As he was changing, he wondered how much longer he'd even be allowed that. Just a few days ago, Marie had to spare precious seconds opening the bathroom door when he flew into a panic. He had nicked himself shaving, and the small trickle that ran down his throat was enough to tip him over the edge.

Nicking himself at all was a sure sign he was spiraling. He was a doctor for Death's sake. He had surgeon's hands.

Marie had raced in when she felt his soul spike. She didn't have soul perception like he did, but she knew him. And his soul was so intimate to her, so familiar, she'd sense something amiss no matter what.

She found him with glass shards embedded in his knuckles, the mirror obliterated, and blood leaking onto the floor while he tried to take the shaving razor apart to get at the blade. She'd thought he was getting better: he had been joking, smiling. It was all forced but it was effort so she entrusted him.

She thought herself stupid for that naivety. He could tell. He _knew_ her.

He was tired of knowing. He didn't want to think anymore.

He had finished changing. It hadn't taken very long. So he settled in the bed, trying to keep his thinking at bay when Marie stepped back in, knocking first and waiting until he gave an affirmation. Her healing influence blasted into him, acting like morphine to a burn victim, and he looked up to see her in her usual sleep-shorts but wearing an oversized, stitched up shirt as opposed to the usual camisole.

Stein lifted a brow, his insanity turning into a moderate buzz in the back of his mind as opposed to a pounding directly in his ears and throat.

"Is that my shirt?" he asked.

"Well, it isn't as though you have need for it," Marie replied, pointedly looking at his bare chest for only an instant before looking away.

He smiled when she played with the hem, refusing to look at his torso. "Marie, you're so easy to read."

She whipped her head up, her eye narrowing. "Excuse me?" she asked, her voice rising in pitch. That much was genuine, that fire.

He grinned, though it could have been a grimace for all he knew. "If you want me, you should just say so. No need for such _coy_ tactics."

Her flushed face answered him and she whirled around, folding her arms and hugging her previous clothes to her chest. "Oh, shut up, Franken Stein! Don't tease: I do **not** want you!"

He chuckled, twisting slightly on the bed so she got a better look. "Ah, playing the coquette, I see."

"You're impossible!"

"No, I'm _Docto_ r Franken Stein."

She groaned at him, finally turning around to reveal her annoyed face after dumping all her clothes atop his own on the desk. "What's next? I tell you I'm hungry and you reply with 'Hi, Hungry. I'm Franken.'?"

"Perhaps," he replied, finding amusement in how she tried to drop her voice to imitate his. The buzzing diminished even more.

"Oh, don't be such a smartass," she scolded, but there was no bite to it. She'd rather this. Carelessly, she plopped down next to him and scooted around until she got comfortable, grabbing for the remote. She turned the screen on, the channels bouncing out a few words of infomercial before she cut them off and moved on to the next. Devoid of the artifice cheer, the room felt empty. There was never anything to hide behind, anymore.

"Are you... okay... for the mission?" she asked, her eye wandering.

His mouth twisted. "I'm okay with getting out of teaching for a day or two."

"Is something up with your class?" she asked, tilting her head back to look up at him, mostly catching a good view of his chin.

"Oh, no. They're _perfect._ Save for all the dissection-related complaints." He waved a hand around. "Really, I'm just as disappointed in the lack of specimens, but they have no need to get so anxious."

Marie grinned as he looked down at her, his glasses glinting. She hoped it was a good omen. "Oh, you know that's not why they complained."

"A man can hope."

She left it at that: he could. She was overcome with something after he said the very word itself, 'hope', that it would have killed her not to shift her head up so she bumped his chin with her nose before flicking her gaze to the television. She found the correct station before dropping the remote on the bedside table, tucking her feet under her as she leaned against Stein.

He didn't react to her affection, his eyes simply settling on the screen. They still had a few minutes until it started up, the space filled with useless commercials. Marie seemed to lean back further, settling over him.

He adjusted until he was seated, supported by the headboard with pillows cushioning his back. And Marie followed him, her hair tickling his upper arm. It reminded him of when they were younger, just kids partnered up for the first time after things with Spirit fell through. She had always been too affectionate, came on too strong.

He didn't care much, one way or the other. He was indifferent to being touch.

More or less.

As the show started, she didn't seem to notice that she was absentmindedly stroking a golden thumb over the back of his hand. And she was using him as mattress and pillow, both. Evidently, he was comfortable enough to double as such: a Franken-sized bed. Franken-Furniture.

It sounded cheap. Not to mention uncomfortable.

Yet, she was asleep only half an hour in. It seemed as though he'd been correct in assuming she was only watching the show for his sake, so Stein reached over her small body to grasp the remote she'd left on her side of the bed, clicking the power button before he chucked the hunk of plastic wherever it may end up. He wriggled until he was lying down, taking the blonde with him. Marie groaned, adjusting herself until she had both arms wrapped around one of his own.

He could dislodge the hold, slip away. She trusted him to stay, trusted him to sleep. There was nothing that would prevent him from holing up in his lab until morning came, from spending a sleepless night by himself.

Nothing but her trust.

With his free hand, he took his glasses off and reached over her, setting them down.

When his eyes slid closed, facing her, he didn't hear any screaming from inside his head.

* * *

He woke up before her as he usually did. It wasn't common for him to sleep for very long in the past, and the same was true now. Though he was constantly exhausted these days, his body still refused proper rest, even if that proper rest was on an actual-factual bed. With an actual-factual woman.

Marie had him in a vice grip, her body encompassed by his on the bed as she held tight to the arm she hadn't let go of since the night before. Her wavelength was weak, but still present. Already the madness was pressing on him, making him want to close his eyes and just pretend, if even for another few minutes, that everything was okay.

Instead, he sucked in a deep breath and dislodged Marie's hold. It was too intimate for her to wake up to him: honestly, if he didn't depend so much upon her wavelength, he would never have agreed to be so close to her. But as soon as he peeled her away from him, her hands found him again.

He was ashamed that he didn't want her to let go. His tired mind immediately complained for the balm of her peaceful soul.

He ignored it. It was probably that greed that made him feel dependant in the first place. If he had just kept his distance, left her well enough alone, he wouldn't be yearning for her to touch him.

He does not analyze the difference between dependency and yearning. He didn't have it in him so early into the day.

Instead, he removed her grasp on him, this time pouring himself out of the bed immediately afterward. Marie whined in her sleep, groping about for something to cuddle with, to cling to. He snatched up the pillow he had slept on and placed it into her waiting arms, watching as she immediately nuzzled into it.

He sighed, running a hand over his face and walking around the bed to grab his glasses. He needed a damn shower. As soon as he had his vision corrected, he glanced at the alarm clock she kept on the table, noting that they had maybe an hour before they had to get ready to meet with Lord Death.

For a fast moment, he wondered if he should go back. It would be easy just to sidle into the bed, replace the pillow, bask in the glow of a mad-free sleep for just a few more moments.

But he did want that shower. He was feeling more than a little grungy. And if he took one too late, Marie would end up pounding on the door and telling him she had to get ready.

And, Death, she'd whine all day, and she'd be a general pain in his ass. And Lord Death would ring them up on the mirror multiple times while they fought for the bathroom which would make her an even bigger pain in the ass if she had to rummage around to quiet the ringing of her compact in her purse.

He sighed.

He sounded like a trained dog. She already made him lose some of his edge. He'd gotten accustomed to full nights of sleep and prompt meals, and he was too soothed by her, her wavelength.

He couldn't help a crooked, bitter smile when he thought of that. Marie Mjolnir: Professional Percocet.

It slid off his face when he realized how dangerous that was, for both of them. Marie kept her wavelength blaring at practically full blast for as long as she could, recently. Sometimes, she varied it to short bursts, but she couldn't stand the thought of Stein having to fight the Kishin's influence alone.

The woman was silly, and sentimental, and all too protective of him. It was making him weaker as opposed to stronger, to lean upon her.

He knew a few people who would argue with that line of thinking, but he wanted his independence back. His solitude. And yet, he didn't want the bleak, empty lab that came with it. He wanted- he didn't know. Wanting wasn't befitting for a man like him. He'd gone without most necessities in the past: frivolous things like companionship he could exist free from. He looked at the slumbering woman in the bed _(the: because the thought of her in_ _ **his**_ _, or_ _ **their**_ _bed made something churn in him, and for it to be_ _ **her**_ _bed, he would be an intruder, an outsider invited in and she was too trusting, Marie, he could do anything anything anything)_ and brought a hand to his head, clicking his bolt back.

He needed to stop thinking.

Annoyed, at what, he couldn't place, he made his way over to the desk and had to pick his clothes out from under Marie's. After a second, he simply picked her outfit up as well, dumping it all in their hamper.

He'd have to make a quick run into his lab to grab some spare clothes to change into after that shower.

* * *

When they finally made their way to the Death Room, Stein had more than had the time to sober up. Next to him, Marie was keeping high spirits, though she acknowledged that it must be a serious task for Death to send them on when they couldn't really spare many people.

"Well, hiya! Hello! Marie, Stein," Death said, his mitten raised in greeting. Marie smiled.

"Good morning, Lord Death."

Stein simply nodded at him.

"Good to see ya! I assume you're ready for your mission?" Death asked, noting the two bags they had brought with them. Marie was the one who nodded this time, her blond pigtails bobbed.

"Where was the Kishin egg last spotted, Lord Death?" Stein asked, a hand finding its way into his lab-coat's pocket.

"California," Death replied, staring at the two figures in front of him. "It's gotten stronger, too. There's no telling how many human souls it's consumed."

"Well, it won't consume any more after we destroy it," Marie said, her face serious.

"That's the ticket, Marie!" Death said, his high, goofy voice sounding particularly elated. "And speaking of tickets..."

"Oh, right! When does the plane leave, Lord Death?" Marie asked. "We already have our things with us, so we're ready to go."

"Ah, well. You see..."

* * *

The crappy rental car Stein was currently driving could probably be carbon dated. Back to circa 1829, even. When he'd first seen it, it only took took a single glance for him to realize how promising it was.

Promising some sort of severe injury at worst, if not multiple mechanical issues.

One would think that the DWMA would realize that time was of the essence, always. Evidently, however, the essence of time wasn't quite worth the trouble of Stein going through airport security with his screw and scalpels and seemingly ever-present surgical staples alongside the stitches for the more vicious wounds he got in battle, all for a trip to Deadwood, California from Nevada, population estimated to about 6. People, not thousand.

The Kishin egg sure picked a dry place to hide out in. It must have been wandering into nearby communities to feast.

It was simply baffling for Death to make the executive decision that it was perfectly fine for a madman who had been having visions increasingly more often to drive for multiple hours at a time. And it wasn't as though he and Marie could alternate, considering his blonde partner was unfit for driving due to being able to get lost in a paper bag.

The DWMA wasn't usually known for such poor decision making skills, but they seemed to be slipping up recently. He didn't understand why Lord Death would send them on the mission, either. Apparently, they'd requested the best, but that didn't mean they were entitled to it. Death must have assumed that a mission with Marie could help ease some of Stein's stress. Marie's, too.

Though, she didn't seem too relaxed at the moment, since she always had a hard time sitting still. The woman had a lot of energy and needed multiple distractions, which, in a car, almost always equated to music. He realized that if he played nothing but Rammstein for the eight and a half hour trip, Marie would be loopy by the time he crossed state lines.

A happy Marie usually equated to a happy Stein. And an upset Marie always equated to a furious Stein.

Upon cataloging this for future analysis, he gave in to what would make her most joyful.

So he gave her control of the radio, which they found out, rather quickly, didn't work. Luckily, or, rather, not so luckily, Marie brought a few CD's she had planned to listen to on the plane ride that never happened.

Frankly? Stein was sick of ABBA. He hated them. He was ready to roll down his window, manually, because the car was most certainly older than their current soundtrack, and chuck the CDs out whilst still driving. He refuses to accept that he is being overdramatic.

And Death damn it all, Marie's wide grin was just not enough to justify it. Not even when she shimmied about and sung along. She didn't have the best voice in the world, but that was fine. Neither did he; though he rather likes Marie's soft mezzo. Even when she isn't providing additional vocals, she lip-syncs so passionately, he can't help but be entertained when he catches it in his peripheral.

Regardless of these facts, she'd sung most of the CD to him, as though a crazed, techno-pop serenade.

It got old rather quickly.

He wasn't really ready to snap yet, but after another few hours of such, he knew he would. And that would be a poor move even if they weren't on their way to an important mission to slaughter a rather powerful Kishin egg. Their resonance was almost always seamless and he didn't want to compromise that.

 _"I still don't know what you've done to me,"_ Marie sang from shotgun. _"A grown up woman should never fall so easily."_

Stein kept his eyes firmly on the road in front of them. They were on a path that required multiple sharp turns, and he was trying to keep the car from tossing them from side to side. Marie's voice warbled sweetly in his right ear.

 _"I feel a kind of fear when I don't have you near. Unsatisfied, I skip my pride, I beg you, dear."_

It had already been a few hours. Just how many, he didn't really know. He would have to turn on the highbeams soon, since the darkness was starting to settle. He could tell that she was winding down on energy, simply from the way she wasn't jumping around in her seat and doing ridiculous, dated dance moves.

He felt like he had been transported to another time, driving stick-shift in a beat up car with manual transmission, Marie doing the batusi and holding her nose, pretending to sink underwater, listening to 70's EuroPop. Thankfully, as she wound down, her strangely well coordinated flailing diminished, replaced by a soft swaying.

 _"Don't go wasting your emotion, lay all your love on me_ ," she crooned, her voice seemingly filling the entire car, even though the windows were all rolled down entirely, wind blowing in and sending the loose wisps of her blonde hair flying all over her face. The music was blaring, too.

It didn't make much sense, if any, that she was the only thing he was focusing on. Suddenly, the road in front of him became second in his mind, a dangerous move which made him question his intellect. But, as opposed to when she was chirping and belting out the lyrics, which prompted amusement and slight irritation in him, when she sang so gently, it made his stomach drop out.

 _"Don't go sharing your devotion, lay all your love on me,"_ she finished with the song, and he took the briefest of moments to turn his head and look at her, noticing immediately how she was gazing at him and how her lips were parted and shining as they shaped the words.

And then, suddenly, her eye widened.

"Franken!" she screamed out, whipping her head to fully face the windshield.

He thanked his instincts, somehow still present even in the constant fog of his mind, for immediately slamming down on the brake pedal. He heard their shitty car squeal in protest as it jerked.

He had missed the turn and they were gunning for a mass of trees which would ensure a nasty accident and multiple wounds. Stein turned the wheel sharply, and Marie fell into him from the force of the turn. The seatbelts evidently didn't lock, and Stein cursed, keeping his foot firmly on the brakes and feeling his heart beat furiously in his chest. As the car evaded the trees and came to a shuddering halt, he threw his arm out to stop Marie from slamming into the windshield, catching her as she careened forward with the force.

From the speakers, the next song started up, and he listened in to the bubbly pop song in the indelicate silence, cataloguing Marie for any injuries she might have. Despite looking dazed and a little shaken up, she was absolutely fine. After doing a quick once over of himself, he came to the same conclusion. Marie settled her weight onto the arm that stopped her fall, her fingers wrapped around his forearm.

 _"Honey, honey: how he thrills me, uh huh, honey, honey. Honey, honey: nearly kills me, uh huh, honey, honey."_

He took in a deep breath. "Are we done with ABBA, Marie?" he asked, uncharacteristically soft. He hadn't pulled his arm away, partially because she was holding on to him rather tightly, but also because they were stopped, and he knew she needed some slight comfort.

Marie nodded after a second, sheepishly letting go of his arm.

"I'm sorry," she said, feeling guilty for distracting him and looking away as she closed her eye. Her heartbeat was rocketing in her, practically thumping her bones together. Her voice had hitched, having swept up rather high when she called out his name, and her throat felt dry and uncomfortable. She grasped the sides of the cheap seat in her hands, willing herself to calm down as she bit at her lip.

She didn't expect for his warm, large hand to come to the top of her head, carefully rustling her hair. Her eye snapped open, but she didn't dare move for fear of cutting the moment short. The last time he did something so tender was when she had sobbed into his chest, holding on to his jacket as though he were her only salvation. And, as with then, she didn't have a word for it other than affectionate, though she knew that couldn't possibly be right.

Naigus' warning rang through her head, but it sounded hollow then. It sounded especially so, now.

He spared another second to smooth his fingers over her blonde locks, a fingertip running down the shell of her ear. She soaked in every movement he made, pressing into his hand. His palms were calloused, though she couldn't feel that against her hair, she knew the detail nonetheless, especially when his finger whispered against the skin of her ear, prompting a delicate shiver.

But it was over immediately, his hand coming back to rest on the steering wheel once more.

Marie took in a deep breath and smiled, tilting her face up to look at his, and though he didn't turn to face her while he changed gears, he tipped up one corner of his lips.

The right side, too, as though to ensure that she couldn't miss it. She grinned at the deliberate action, leaning forward to eject the CD and effectively cutting off the singer.

( _"There's no other place in this world where I would rather be_ -")

The road twisted ahead of them and Marie rummaged around for some Madonna.


	2. When It All Falls

Deadwood was aptly named, Stein thought when they finally stop the car. After only one particularly annoying incident at a gas station where the dermatologically-challenged teen working the cash register spent a few too many moments drooling over Marie's breasts, which resulted in the destruction of said cash register and cashier both, they had finally made it.

When he stepped out of the car, his ass felt numb. He grumbled, slamming the door. He was almost surprised when the machine didn't fall to scrap metal at the action, and instead began to make his way around, down the dusty streets.

Deadwood was having a dry season, he remembered. No rain in months, which wasn't very good for the tiny population that resided there. Speaking of, Marie came in close to his side, her good eye flicking around. It was a wonder why the community hadn't all fled, but they must have been some stubborn people.

It was all too dark, too. There wasn't enough electricity to power any street lights.

No street lights to power, either, which explained why the singular apartment complex was lit up like a lighthouse, the two of them making quick ground towards it. Death told them that the man he managed to get in contact with had specifically requested they meet with him before they barreled into any fighting.

Stein found it all rather archaic.

"Wow, when they said ghost-town, they really meant it," Marie muttered, making twice as many strides as Stein to keep up with his long legs.

"Yes. It's easy to hide out here as well."

"From the general population, maybe. But from you?"

Stein didn't react. He didn't want to tell her that the Kishin as well as the Kishin egg's wavelength was bearing down on him oppressively, that he wanted to claw at his throat.

There were eyes on the walls. Hell, there were eyes on the deathdamned dust trail, and Stein purposefully placed his next step so it covered the iris. Marie moved closer to him, prepared to transform at any moment.

She didn't have any need to do so while they walked. She felt the prickle of the Kishin egg's influence, but Stein knew it was far enough away not to cause them any harm. Despite how loud and noisy their piece-of-trash vehicle was, they had the element of surprise. Marie blinked when they reached the apartment complex.

"Should we just... knock?" she asked, eyeing the door and moving her hand up, but Stein reached out, gently encircling her slim wrist and bringing it back down to her side. When she looked at him, he pointed his chin over to the window where the curtains were still rustling.

They weren't very stealthy people, that was for certain. But after a moment, the door opened a crack and a nervous voice called out to them.

"Are y-y-you... from the a-a-a-academ-m-my?"

Marie blinked. The man was giving Crona a run for their money.

"We are. Weapon Meister Doctor Franken Stein and Death Scythe Marie Mjolnir of the Death Weapon Meister Academy" Marie replied, making her voice soft and soothing. Stein had a bad habit of making others... _nervous_ , so she usually did most of the talking: a fact that he didn't mind, though he was getting irritated with how slow the interaction was going. Marie glanced up at him, her eye narrowed in concern.

She was hoping his blood-lust wasn't going to be so bad so soon.

The door opened only a millimeter more and the man's nervous face peeked out at them. "You never know when it's-"

Stein merely threw his leg out, forcing the man back so he could enter the building. Marie shook her head. At least she knew Stein wasn't a vampire, what with his lack of qualms about barging through.

A plethora of monsters he may believe himself to be, but not that one at least. Regardless, she followed after her Meister, flashing the shocked man a gentle smile.

She wished she could tell him that Stein wasn't always like that. As it were, she was actually thankful for the familiarity of his behavior. She would have really been shocked if he waited around: politeness would have been a poor sign on how stable he was.

She had hope. When they stepped past the small hallway into the lobby, Stein looked around and spotted the multiple people with impromptu weapons in their hands or by their sides. He knew it would be hopeless if any of them, even if all of them fought the Kishin egg at once. The population was small enough that only one final slaughter would end their numbers.

Marie cleared her throat, coming in front of Stein when she noticed how angry the group had gotten.

"I'm sorry for that-"

"Lord Death has insisted I meet with Nathan Shultz," Stein said over her, cutting her off. He was starting to feel strange, as though tipsy. He wanted to step outside again, half for a smoke and half to see where the Kishin egg was.

It felt like it was coming in closer, though it was certainly still far enough away not to warrant any immediate concern. He thinks. Everything felt hazy. They'd have to make it fast.

Behind them, the man who answered the door delicately stepped forward. "I-I'm N-N-Nathan."

Stein didn't turn entirely, feeling a little too dizzy to do so, but he did move his head. "And why did you want to meet with us?"

Marie put a hand on his forearm, probably as a silent chide about how rude he was being, but she brought the clarity.

Why did he want to meet with them? Wouldn't he want them to get to work immediately? The haze in his head cleared further when he reached up and cranked his bolt back. When he got a good look at the man, he noticed the lack of shaking. Why no adrenaline spike in a situation where he stuttered so profusely?

"W-we all th-th-thought it best to tell a-about our m-m-m-m-medic."

"We won't need to know about that," Marie assured. Most of Stein's bag, which they'd left in the car, had been medical supplies for almost every emergency under the sun. And she had more faith in him than anyone else when it came to medicine. No _average_ doctor brings a man back from the dead.

"N-no... I think y-y-y-you will," Nathan said, his body seeming to distort.

Stein blinked behind his glasses, his lungs compressing in his body as he breathed out and focused his soul perception ability. When he settled his gaze on Nathan, he couldn't detect anything. At all.

In fact, the only souls in the lower floor of the apartment complex were his and Marie's: every other living creature in the entire town was trapped on the third floor and higher.

He understood. Nathan wanted to stall them.

Marie caught on as well and she activated her transformation, her handle coming into direct contact with Stein's palm as their resonance sung between them.

'What's going on, Stein?' she asked from her weapon form, keeping her wavelength dialed up as high as it could go. 'Is he-'

'No,' Stein answered, their mental link making it so that the sound of his voice bounced around through the entirety of her, enveloping every sense she had. 'He has no soul.'

'No soul?' Marie gasped. 'He's a decoy!' she yelled out and the two of them watched as Nathan melted down to the floor in a beige, yellowing, shapeless blob. The people around them, the ones who seemed as though they were ready to fight, the ones Stein pitied, too fell to dunes.

Dunes.

His eyes widened immediately and he turned on his heel and ran outside. He hadn't been paying enough attention and the demon soul was coming closer. The curse that flowed from his mouth was jagged when he swallowed down the fact that they hadn't ever had the element of surprise. It was all a trap.

And a good one. He had been so distracted that he didn't notice that damn Kishin egg was pressing close to them. That the people in the apartment weren't _stubborn_ but  hostages.

His soul perception felt the egg's wavelength everywhere and Marie crackled with how intense he was focusing. She steadied their resonance, reaching out with her healing wavelength and pressing it against his soul. It was jittering, shaking like a bottle ready to uncork at any moment.

He hated to be surprised, but they just didn't expect for the chuckling to sound so _close_.

Stein leapt up, barely avoiding the sand that started to snake over his shoes. Marie blinked inside her weapon form, confused. Stein cursed aloud.

"Sand..." he said, his eyes narrowing as the sand he had previously been standing in shifted around, swirling together until a stretched out humanoid appeared. This time, the soul was there, right in the thing's chest. That wasn't good. Stein's Wavelength Attacks depended so heavily upon electricity, and that was Marie's specialty, too.

Sand was going to ruin their dynamic entirely.

"Ah, good to see you!" the Kishin egg said. The voice was deep, and when he opened his mouth, it was a swirl of red and black leading nowhere and everywhere at once. "Long time no see, Doctor. Though, not really, eh? Two weeks is hardly anything!"

Stein brought Marie up and settled into a defensive stance, not reacting when the Kishin egg giggled.

"That little hammer isn't going to do much," he taunted. Marie growled from her weapon form, annoyed at being put down so quickly simply based on size, but grew surprised when the Kishin egg simply smiled. "Electricity, yes? Oh! Don't look so... **shocked** , ahaha! You dream of her often enough, Doctor."

Stein's eyes widened as he connected the dots and he bent backward to dodge a wave of sand that came for his face. Marie heard the whisper in every nerve of her body.

'Sandman,' Stein thought, shifting around. 'Marie, we need Izuna-'

But the sand grasped hold of his ankles and disrupted all of his balance. He grunted when it upset his foothold and then the Sandman was upon him, the Kishin egg's body connecting with his own, sending him flat out flying against the brick of the apartment complex. The thing shook with the force of it and the blow it caused to the back of his head was harsh enough that he let go of Marie and she went tumbling, her form scraping the wall as she skittered away from him.

'Franken!' she called, struggling to keep hold of their resonance as he blacked out momentarily.

He forced the pain aside and scrambled away from where he'd been thrown, reaching for Marie. They had no hope if he utilised Soul Menace: it wouldn't do anything. This was a battle where they could depend upon nothing but sheer physical strength.

He must have been concussed. Everything in his head was rattled around and he just wasn't fast enough without Marie there to amplify him. The sand came back up and clamped right over his face.

It broke his glasses, first, the force of it before he felt it in his eyes, and the extent of the Kishin egg's influence seeped into him: he knew what was happening. His body was shutting down immediately when the sand shuddered over his gray-green orbs, sliding over every exposed crevice. He slumped down against the wall, trying to keep conscious.

Failing.

The Sandman grinned as he stepped forward to Stein. "Now then, perhaps a quick nap!" he hollered.

Marie screeched instinctively. It took her a second to bring herself back into her human form but when she did she didn't spare a moment, rushing to her Meister. Her feet pounded over the dust trail, kicking up dirt around her with how fast she ran in front of Stein. Her untransformed palm crackled with electricity when she slammed it onto the kishin egg's right ribcage, her other hand a hammer swinging around to catch him on the opposite side.

He slid back from her, evading as his body turned into sand and laughter seeming to spike out of every grain. At the very least, what was on Stein's face fell away, slithering back to the Kishin egg, though Stein was unconscious. She ran forward to the dune that was collecting, ready to hammer the thing to finer dust but she felt some of it worm into her shoes.

"Shit!" Marie called out, kicking off against the ground so she could avoid the pooling at her feet. The laughter rung higher.

"Ah, how cute! Two souls for the price of one. And here I thought I was only getting Nutso over there. **Currently** , it looks like you're out of luck. This is a suicide mission for you, hammer. Your electricity is useless here."

Marie stepped closer to her now spasming Meister. Stein collected himself into a bundle down on the floor, into the corner. She'd seen him like this too many times.

Dreams. Nightmares, really. There was nothing she could do to wake him, either. They were still resonating, though it was weak and unstable, but she couldn't reach him unless she had _time_. And there was no way she could pick him up and get him to the car without the Kishin egg following and slaughtering her retreating form. And beyond that, she couldn't drive off if they reached the car to get them to a safe enough space where she could coax him out of it. Her lack of depth perception mixed in with such darkness and the lack of population: they'd both be dead in an accident and it would all have been for nothing.

Marie took a sharp breath in through her nose. She couldn't pull him out of the nightmares fast enough, but she could at least prevent him from getting any worse. She didn't know if increased exposure to the sand meant a longer sleep, but she wasn't going to take the chance. He was getting out of this mess, she promised herself; she'd get him out. Keeping her eye sharp, she took the risk to change out of her partial transformation in order to rip a piece of her shorts off. They hadn't been expecting sand.

Even to breathe, the very air was the enemy. The ground beneath her feet. She pushed her leg against Stein, calling his name.

He didn't acknowledge her, and the Sandman was beginning to collect himself back into a tangible form, likely toying with her.

Fine. She could use that. Underestimation was the fastest way she could nail a physical attack straight to his face until it shattered everything in his grimy body. She crouched down, more than ready to turn on a dime and transform, but instead jerked Stein's head up. Her hands were glowing but it wasn't reaching him, so she had to do what she could.

Swiftly she pressed the fabric against his lips and he thrashed in his sleep, but Marie held firm. If any more sand came at his mouth or nose, he wouldn't have the chance to defend himself. He'd drown in it, lungs filling and body failing and and and-

'Franken, Franken, the air is _poison,'_ she told him through their mental link, the desperate edge of her words seeming to stop his frantic mobility, though she knew it was just one nightmare phasing into another. She'd seen it before. But she needed to hope that there was something rational there.

Something she could still touch that he would feel echo through him.

She tied the fabric as firmly as possible over his mouth and nose, scared that the time she just used was useless. When she stood up, she saw the creature looking at her in amusement.

"Aw, wittle hammew. How pwecious. I can just feel the **sparks** between you! How about a lullaby next?" the Sandman purred, remaining motionless.

Marie transformed her hand to a hammer, straightening her spine and swallowing her grimace. So this was why it had been so bad. The influence of something with a wavelength strongest in the dream world: no wonder Stein had been falling to pieces.

The Sandman faked a frown. "My, so serious," he said, and she watched as he let his hand fall to ruin once more before her, changing it into a cloud. "You need to... **lightnin** ' up!"

Marie dodged the sand so it got as far away from Stein as it could. She dove down and to the right, away from the corner, and ran to the creature. She was useless at long range, and more so, her wavelength wouldn't do anything in this situation.

Marie had to utilise her name as the Pulverizer. But she had been given it for a reason.

She came in close, her body sliding up against the sand and she felt the granules on her skin, rubbing and chafing her raw. She wheeled her arm back and slammed it forward while she kicked up, catching him in two directions.

He turned himself to bits to dodge the kick she aimed to his chin, but the hit from her hammer that connected on his right side forced him to yowl and hiss in pain, a reaction that wasn't lost to her.

It was, however, somewhat covered up by her body sailing through the air, straight to the abandoned wood of whatever structure was next to the apartment complex. The dry crackling of the old material splintered around her as she shot through, and she caught the worst of it on her side.

She coughed, feeling the dust in her lungs, but clamped down firmly on her lips.

She didn't have the luxury of a mask. She took all her spare time on Stein. Her eye cut over to him, seeing his own still closed, though his body was wrapping around itself until he was in a fetal position. The makeshift cloth-cover hadn't slipped in his motions. Marie forced herself up though it felt as though she'd bruised every inch of her skin.

Instead, she pushed forward again. The Sandman was having a harder time collecting himself, and where she had hit him with her hammer seemed to have his body fused together. The indented mark of her lightning bolt insignia hinted that the sheer pressure bunched his side into one smooth mass, preventing him from turning it to sand.

At least she knew it was working.

He immediately shot backwards when he saw her gunning for him, and swirled the sand that was his hand around his head before directing it at her again.

She wasn't fast enough to dodge it this time, and it caught her against the neck and the chest, sweeping her down and to the ground. The blunt force trauma the blow caused to the back of her head swum her vision, but she had to move.

She had to **move**.

She rolled away just before the sand came to flatten her ribcage. It caught her against the arm, though, and rubbed the skin straight off. She found her footing, dancing aside as best she could.

The Kishin egg decided to adapt a sort of scraping and cutting motion for her, something she could evade more easily than large clouds. Stein used the same style with Spirit when they sparred: fast, deadly attacks.

When the sand made an arc to her neck, she ducked beneath it and kicked off as fast as she could. She hadn't tried using Izuna without a Meister for years, since she saw how bad it was when shared between two, but she knew she needed something.

There was only so much longer the Sandman would target her. He knew Stein was the most vulnerable one in the situation and the naivety that the egg's psychological hold on Stein would be enough wouldn't last much longer. Marie was the largest threat to him at the moment, so he wanted to eliminate her first, but the instant the monster threatened Stein physically, the fight would be lost to her.

She felt the hollow ache immediately when she cut off her resonance with him, as she always did. She just felt so whole when they were connected in that way, and she always placated herself with the fact that her wavelength calmed him as well, so it was mutual. But she knew her healing soul could do nothing for him, not even offer comfort: she was only resonating for her own sake. She wanted to know he was okay.

He wasn't.

She had to end it soon and she wasn't willing to force him into sharing the effects of her hyper-nerve technique when only she had to endure. Her transformed arm throbbed when she activated Izuna and the entirety of her body was being ripped to shreds, her muscles screeching at her to just end it.

She didn't have long, but now she had the advantage.

She was in front of the Sandman before he could even blink, her hammer shuddering into his left ribcage, leaving a matching mark to his right. Except when her demon steel touched him, it downright dented into his body, eviscerating everything in the mass of pressure she brought forth. He screamed, his arms coming up to her face and scratching her cheek raw, trying to tendril to her mouth. She held her breath as she smashed her hammer against his stomach, forcing that concave as well.

When he kicked her back, it was into the stone of the building Stein was against, and she caught herself before she barreled into him, her feet bouncing on the ground. She blinked sand from her singular eye and began to push off, but the Sandman ran toward her, both feet slamming into her stomach.

She coughed, hard, her lungs feeling as though they'd jammed to her throat. And the Kishin egg repeated the motion, hell in his eyes as his arms fell to granules. Marie howled, blood running down her chin and her insides feeling runny.

Marie couldn't quite evade when he brought his leg up to her shoulder, kicking against it. She felt it pop out of the socket, her hammer arm stuttering light before it changed back. The Sandman tipped his head back, laughing once more, thinking she was now defenseless.

"My, little hammer, you sure were a **live** **wire** -" he started to say, but Marie already transferred her partial form into the other hand. The electricity of her wavelength coursed through her very skeletal muscles when she brought her hammer against his face, forcing it inward.

The Kishin egg fell back in time for Marie to kick at his knees, finally getting his legs out from under him.

She peeled off from the wall, landing in an undignified heap and struggling to get upright even with support from the brickwork. The step she took forward was jittery and slow, and she didn't have any time.

 _She was out of time._

The Sandman was done with playing. She watched as the undone shards of his arms seemed to hum in the air when they made a beeline for Stein's form.

And she couldn't think. She rammed off from the wall, the bottom of her foot absolutely obliterating a chunk of it as well as the soles of her shoes, and careened forward so fast she felt the whiplash. When her hammer knocked at the kishin's chest, it forced his throat in as well, and sand went flying everywhere all at once.

It lined her mouth and filled her ears and nose, her eye almost rendered blind. He was trying to dig himself inside of her but she only opened her mouth wider to yell out a fierce, keening cry as she pummeled her hammer down and down. She was caught in a vortex, enduring the baleful tornado: a sandstorm personalised just for her.

She didn't know if the sand got to Franken, but she knew it was his name she wailed out, as though she were a banshee; some siren called onto the Earth to wake a man instead of drown him down. It was her cry, heard over the murderous wind, that forced the living souls in the apartment complex to peer out of their windows, watching the carnage, some of them too scared to move and others, seeing how hurt the two were, would be, rushing up medical supplies. A few of them started making their way down the infinite number of creaking stairs but hung back behind the corner or just before the door, terrified.

Most though, most merely watched as the ragged woman didn't stop her assault, even when everything inside of her fell to ribbons and flailed away. The only thing that mattered was the connection of her hammer to a dying body, the urge to destroy everything in her path.

When she felt his soul, _his_ soul, tendril out to her once again, she latched onto it immediately because it showed her he was **alive** _(all that mattered, all that mattered, her promise, he'd make it, he did he did he did)_ and Stein winced away from her. But she dug her metaphoric heels in and held tight to their resonance, and Izuna wept through her very being when she lifted her arm once more, mid-swing to crash upon the demon soul as if she'd come to deliver judgment.

And then everything stopped.

The breath she took hitched furiously in her trachea and she fell forward onto the ruined body of the Sandman just as it entirely fell to tatters, the sandstorm coming to a weak halt. The egg's soul released into the air, a swirling orb of red and black, a prize she couldn't claim as her body failed her.

" **Marie!"**

* * *

The fabric tasted awful on his tongue and he could hardly breathe. But something was pulling him from the muck, something was commanding him to get up. And the arms, the heinous weight that had been holding him under got lighter and lighter as the seconds ticked by.

When he cracked his eyes open, it was just in time to see the sand that was coming for him miss by barely a foot and fall to the ground, useless. Beyond it, in front of him, the Kishin egg's body went convex with how hard Marie slammed into his chest. It wasn't enough to kill him, but the creature was practically all flattened.

His shaking hands came up to what was around his face and he pulled the cloth off, recognising the pattern. He reached out to her with his soul without even thinking about it and she bit into him, all sharp edges and fury and hellfire.

Mindless, frazzled.

"Marie," he muttered out, his vocal chords refusing to work properly. And then the familiar shock of Izuna coursed through him, woke him and lit him up from the inside out.

She'd been using it. All alone.

"No!" he yelled, scrambling up, trying to plead for Marie to release her hyper-nerve technique, to stop. She had won, the Kishin would be defeated regardless of whether she kept fighting or not, but her arm came up for another swing, the other hanging uselessly at her side and he watched her freeze.

It didn't happen in slow-motion.

In fact, it happened faster than he could have ever imagined it to. One second, Marie was brimstone and life, and the next she was heaving wetly, blood spattering out of her mouth, her body flailing forward and giving out, dealing the final, double-edged blow to the Sandman.

He screamed her name and it hurt his throat: it was so unfamiliar to have the panic well up so fast. His palms scraped and got caked in dust as he shoved himself up and forward, barreling to her body. He wished he had stayed awake: he didn't know what was going on, what blows she had been dealt, what to do.

"Marie!" he said, grasping her shoulders and forcing her to her side so she didn't choke on any vomit or blood that came leaking from her esophagus. He brought his fingers to her jugular, searching for her pulse.

The Kishin egg's soul was suspended beside them, as though mocking him when her heartbeat came back irregular, barely there.

Stopping.

There was no thought at that point. He was moving on the pure muscle memory of field training, turning her onto her back, ripping her heavy wool shirt open, and rubbing his palms together. His soul menace came itching down his arms before he brought both hands down on her chest, trying to shock her heart back to normal.

A regular defibrillator wouldn't do anything for Marie. Her whole body was both an insulator and a conductor. It took mass levels of power and he amplified his wavelength, repeating the motions. Her back arched, body pulling as though on a string up toward him before flopping down uselessly.

His head and chest and hands and feet and eyes _throbbed._ She was leaving him. His soul perception focused on her intently, seeing how she was rejecting it from her flesh.

Hadn't he wanted to know? Wasn't this what he brought upon himself? His fault, _his fault_. The whispers were everywhere.

Stein blinked rapidly, jolting his partner again, even as the former hostages rushed outside, all talking at once. He was getting desperate, and her wet rasping had stopped because she stopped breathing and dear Death, he didn't care what he had to do so long as she started _breathing_ again. His hands came together, one atop the other, to pulse on her sternum, letting out short bursts of his wavelength every five beats. After thirty or so, he lifted her chin and pinched her nose, sealing her mouth off and forcing breath into her.

When he pulled away his efforts proved fruitless, and he hollered out for the people who had gathered around them: "Get my bag, in the car!" as he pressed down on her chest again, shocking and jostling her. "Marie!"

His eyes were crazed. _He_ felt crazed. And three people almost ran over one another to rush for their vehicle. He wants the time back when he was complaining about how crappy it was. He wants her singing back.

Her soul was leaving her. She was getting cold.

But he refused. Helpless, desperate, he forced his soul over hers, covering and effectively trapping her. Her soul couldn't go anywhere.

Stein knew, were he anyone else, the power struggle would really be a fight with the Reaper. But he didn't care. He'd fight Lord Death too. He'd done it before.

He'd succeeded before. But that was when he still felt stable. That was when he could still be trusted to shave his own face without trying to commit accidental suicide and his eyes flared and he blinked back something he didn't ever want to acknowledge and Marie was dying, damnit, why was he having visions now of the eyes opening over her sternum? Bleeding red and oozing down the bare flesh of her breasts?

He gasped for air when he pulled away from her mouth and she didn't respond, still stagnant. "Where's the medic?" he asked, his head whirling around as a slight woman ran forward with his bag of supplies as well as Marie's bag in her hands.

"I'm here, I'm here!"

Stein was breathing harder and he bit and chewed the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper. He was still pumping down on Marie's sternum but nothing was working.

"Sir?"

"Administer CPR," he ordered, the madness creeping upon him. He jammed his fingernails into his wrist, biting them in until he found the rationality to snatch the Kishin egg's soul right out of the air. He ripped Marie's eyepatch off and opened her eyelid, feeding the soul into her empty socket. His soul opened around her own, filtering in the demon egg and coaxing her wavelength to swirl around though it was weak and barely existent. Stein struggled, lending her strength enough to consume the Sandman. He felt her soul flare.

His wavelength hissed audibly when he charged it.

"Clear!" he called, clapping his hands onto Marie's chest the instant the medic moved. Marie pulled upward to him again, the electrical burn on her chest in the shape of his massive, destructive, ruinous hands and he brought his fingers to her jugular, feeling her pulse and praying and pleading to Death until she coughed wetly. Her spittle was pink and it sprayed in the air and down her face. Pulmonary Edema, then. Acute. Or gastrointestinal bleeding? Both?

He looked at the medic, who had fished the manual oxygen pump out of his bag and set about putting it to Marie's face, pumping air in.

She'd be no help. She was clumsy. She was inexperienced.

He saw the creatures of his nightmares and his mind creep around him, their sharp nails throwing dirt around Marie, asking for her bones. They would get them, too, if he didn't concentrate. He inhaled sharply and yanked his bag toward him, and the medic watched in horror as he dug in, finding one of multiple scalpels and jammed it into his thigh.

The beasts withered aside and he looked to the medic, still pumping away, still keeping Marie alive. He felt at Marie's pulse. If she had internal hemorrhaging she'd bleed to death if he didn't **do** something.

"Nathan!"

The Kishin egg must have lured them with a real man, or else Death would have been able to notice the decoy. When he heard the whimper, his voice was sharp. "Call Death."

"S-sir-"

"Call Death and tell him I need a medical team."

"Sir-"

" _Now_ , Shultz," Stein commanded. "She's going into surgery. Someone pump the oxygen."

And with that, he ripped open what was left of her shirt, not hesitating to cut through the front of her bra. Everyone scampered, someone with a strong stomach taking the manual pump. Stein took Marie's shirt and lifted her head up, setting the fabric underneath. Her hair billowed out, in a mockery of a halo.

The medic was horrified, starting to stutter. "I-I've never-"

"In the bag. There's bupivacaine."

"W-what-"

His voice was calm, deadly. Marie's soul was still alive, though dormant under his, and the scalpel was digging into his thigh and twisting, keeping the pain fresh and the madness flinching away. He threw his hands into the bag, finding the anesthetic and injecting Marie himself. He sounded all too bitter when he scoffed and got the tools he'd need for impromptu surgery. This first year med student, if that, was practically useless. "Do you have experience taking blood?"

"Yes-"

"Take it from me. She's going to need at least a pint. Maybe two."

"I can't take blood from you! You're going into surgery!"

Stein didn't bother with gloves. He couldn't. Once he opened Marie's torso up, he needed to give her heart small shocks to keep her body working. A piece of him wondered if all he was doing was mutilating her, if her death was imminent and he simply refused to succumb to the facts of the world. He was a man of fact, once. The unsanitary conditions alone could kill her and then it would be his fault his fault his _fault-_

-but the scalpel twisted in his thigh as he moved over Marie's body.

"Just rip the sleeve of my coat," he told her, not bothering with incision lines since he knew them by heart anyway. If she had gastrointestinal bleeding, he had to cull out the failing segment. He bit down, readying his scalpel. Nothing was sterile, nothing was proper. He didn't have any options.

"You're already bleeding! We're still outside-"

"She's going to _die._ Take the blood."

"What's her type? Maybe someone else?"

"She's a weapon. She'd reject any blood type that isn't from a weapon."

"But you're-"

"I'm compatible," he snapped. He didn't have the time to explain that his blood, turned black courtesy of the venom Medusa bit into him, could be transfused into anyone. He had no concerns about Marie inheriting madness from it since her wavelength would purify it naturally.

The medic looked conflicted, both her hands free since the random sap had taken over the manual pump, but her face shuttered to a close and she looked down at the woman who saved all of their lives. "I can set up the transfusion too."

Stein skid his scalpel into Marie's skin, the blood welling up, oozing. "She's probably going to go into hypovolemic shock, if she isn't there already." She. She, not Marie. Not Marie. Just a patient. One of many.

The needle slid into his vein on the first try and he steadied himself.

Just a patient with her soul under his.

All he had to do was keep her body alive. Dear Death, just this. Just this and he'd be fine.


	3. In a Ghost Town

"Marie Mjolnir, Death Scythe formerly residing over Oceania has been temporarily stabilised," Stein said, his voice bone-weary.

Spirit's eyes seemed hollow when he stared into the mirror. "She's-"

"Alive. I need her medevac'd."

He watched as Spirit ran a hand through his hair, his shirtsleeves rolled up. "The request was put in already, the second we got the call. Should be there in twenty minutes."

Death was nowhere to be seen, and Stein supposed that was metaphorical as well as literal. He'd never been a man minded for the metaphorical, however, so he did what he was good at. He continued pumping oxygen, maintaining slow breathing, and turned back to Marie and carefully checked and rechecked her vitals. He peered at the makeshift IV he fashioned on short notice and contemplated another precious few drops of morphine.

"Stein, what the hell _happened_? We got the call and... you weren't around and that man was practically _weeping_."

Stein stared into the mirror. Once he'd excised the failing intestinal section and given Marie blood, once she'd stabilised enough to not be in immediate, fatal danger, they had the random man run and get it, setting it in front of Stein.

Everyone scattered.

The Meister had already stitched Marie up, hoping against hope that she wouldn't need to be opened up again once he'd treated her internal hemorrhaging as best he could.

"Is this really the time for a mission report?" Stein snarked.

"I just need the shorthand, Stein." What he meant was that he needed to know that the doctor hadn't caused Marie harm in the first place. There was something broken in Stein's eyes, his shattered glasses having long been removed.

"Marie had to fight the demon soul, Sandman, alone and maintained multiple injuries."

"Alone?"

Stein's Adam-apple bobbed when he swallowed. "Yes."

Spirit knew better than to push the matter. "And you-"

"I was rendered incapable of fighting. Spirit, _where_ is the medical team?"

"They're on their way, Stein. They'll be there soon."

Stein appeared like a man who went through an eighteen hour surgery. Spirit took in the way Stein was holding Marie's hand, keeping his fingers on her pulse to monitor her but stroking her wrist with his thumb while he controlled her breathing. He took note of how the doctor's hair was wild, mouth twisted, and shoulders sagged. He didn't notice the scalpel still in Stein's thigh, but the lab-coat draped over Marie's form was clearly his, her head cradled by her folded up shirt.

The look in Stein's eyes was obvious.

"You must have been scared," Spirit commented, remembering back to the first time he'd been injured badly on a mission. Stein hadn't been hardened to that life yet. For him to be so strained as a veteran, it must have been bad.

Stein's voice was smaller than he'd heard it before for a long time. There was a long pause. "Spirit?"

"Stein?"

"I think she should be reassigned," Stein said, suddenly and Spirit's eyebrows flew up.

"Are you joking?"

"No. Pair her with Sid."

"Sid can't wield her. You know how difficult Marie is to even pick up and-" Stein stared Spirit down. The redhead realised immediately what the Meister didn't want to say.

The pressure of the silence was almost too much before Spirit sighed.

"Don't be so selfish, Stein. She'd never allow that and you know it. And you know why."

Stein's mouth twitched but he remained silent.

"The medical team should be there, soon. They have your coordinates, so just stay on the line and they can trace you, alright?"

Stein nodded, giving in and putting more morphine into her IV bag.

"You should tell her," Spirit commented.

"About the morphine?"

"Stop dodging."

"Why?" Stein asked. Everything was a jumble in his head.

"She deserves to know."

"She'd never leave."

"Why is that a bad thing? That's her decision."

"You know why," Stein commented plainly, his voice empty of emotion.

"Don't you think she has a right to make that choice? Besides, deathbed confessions are romantic to some, I hear." It was a cheap attempt at humor, but at least it was filling up the space.

Stein stared at him, easy to read.

"Stop dodging," Spirit said, again.

Stein remained silent, but Spirit could have sworn he saw the scientist squeeze the hammer's hand just a little more firmly.

* * *

He had never been so thankful for proper medical tools in his life. When the Air Ambulance finally reached them, he was ready to downright kiss the rib separators, oxygen tanks, and nasogastric tubes. They could finally leave Deadwood and the small community that tried their best though it wouldn't be enough and the blood Marie left in the dirt behind them, hopefully to remember it only as an insignificant memory.

In the Air Am, Marie was finally on proper life-supporting machines but Stein still didn't feel comfortable pulling his soul away. Enveloping her when she was so delicate, it took everything he had not to let the madness seep through in her most vulnerable state.

He didn't tell any of the nurses about still being in resonance with her, but it was draining him. Spirit put in all the paperwork to have her under his care, and since he was the Lord's weapon, he could make orders by proxy whether he had the paperwork to back it up or no. The hospital staff had to give Stein access to everything, including the operating room they'd be in when they got back to Death City. And he had to be in a foreign operating room. He didn't trust himself in his own.

Stein had to conserve his strength, so he just gave orders to the nurses, as opposed to fulfilled them himself. Marie was on oxygen and they had her on a working pump, keeping her heart steady. Her vitals were all monitored closely: she had terrible internal damage, but he fixed up everything immediately life threatening as best he could, which was enough for now. And while they kept her body alive, Stein focused on her soul. He kept himself in a chair by her side since having such a one sided resonance was draining the life from him.

Almost literally.

It was 45 minutes in that he realised he should have just done everything himself because the pain medication started to fail her. Marie was a Death Scythe and she needed different levels of everything, especially what with her form being a hammer that utilised electricity. A very durable hammer. They must not have given her enough.

He was so tired he didn't notice it until she started to flail and he felt her soul wrestle within the confines of his own. The instant he was aware of the unrest, he brushed his soul close onto her, both of his hands reaching out to grasp one of her own that wasn't attached to the drip. Marie was whispering harshly behind the oxygen mask they'd put on her.

'Franken!' her mind screamed out, sounding terrified, sounding like she did when she was in the Sandman's vortex and he lowered his forehead down upon her own, sweating from the effort of stabilising their connection.

 _I'm here, Marie._

She whimpered, a sob bubbling from her chest which forced her to cough repeatedly, something which brought his eyes to the machines to see if something had been ruptured or disrupted. Dear Death, she was alive by force of will alone and some medical tape. Stein figures the lord might even have a hand in how she survived, because Stein had all but called him on the mirror to tell him that he _owed_ the doctor. All the things Stein did in his life for Lord Death: he had a debt he wanted paid.

Whether threat, or miracle, or favour: Marie's life force was so fragile.

 _Stop, Marie! I'm here. Right here,_ he told her, bringing her hand up to his face, tracing her fingertips over his stitches like she always did when she thought he was sleeping. She seemed to calm down at that, her fingers twitching on their own while he dislodged one of his hands to bring it to the top of her head.

Such actions, such small things were so ingrained in her. Touch was powerful and he wanted the familiarity to calm her, needed her stable.

She sighed, relief ringing out in her voice, sweet as a bird, _'Franken, you're safe... Thank Death,'_ and then went limp, surrendering to the pull of his soul which was pleading for her to go back under. Her hand ceased moving and her body melted down back into the table, all tension gone as his soul stroked over her own from all sides.

He lifted his head up, managing to catch the eye of more than one nurse that had been staring at him.

"She needs more morphine," he informed.

Then, uncaring of anyone else but the two of them, he just lowered his head right back down.

* * *

When she woke up again, days later, he was slumped in a different chair looking worse than she had ever seen him. His eyes were skittering around, looking over the room at invisible things no one could see. He was trembling, quickly turning into horrible spasms. But Marie watched as he grasped his own wrist and twisted, wincing when she saw just how far he'd bent it.

Pain tactics: Stein had been called a sadist by many a person, but a masochist he was not.

She released a strange sounding gurgle when she tried to speak, to comfort him, and her throat felt odd and uncomfortable.

His head whipped up when he noticed she was awake. Quickly, he stood from his spot at his chair, standing up and leaning over her, looking at all the machines for any sign something could be amiss. When he came back with nothing out of the ordinary, he stepped to the door and called into the hall for ice chips before coming back to her side.

"You have a nasogastric tube in, give me a moment, I'll take it out," he told her, not waiting for any response before he rushed over out of her line of sight and she heard water running. Washing his hands, probably.

She didn't feel like lifting her head. She didn't really feel like doing much of anything at all, really. What she did feel like was that she was bulldozed. Or hit by an eighteen wheeler.

Stein came back into her peripheral wearing gloves. "You need to hold your breath," he told her, then, with a pause and a small voice, "Please," he added, and Marie's eye softened. When she did, her chest burned but she endured and he clamped his fingers down on the tube before he gently removed it. The sliding sensation was disgusting and Marie's eye watered slightly.

She could have sworn she heard soothing "shhh's", but it could have been her imagination. It probably _was_ her imagination. Marie coughed slightly when the tube was entirely removed and Stein went to dispose of it just as a nurse knocked, coming in with two cups: ice chips and nodded at the nurse, but that was the only acknowledgment he gave, a sign for them to leave immediately, and when the nurse did, Stein walked back to where Marie was laying, hesitating.

"Do you... would you like to rinse your mouth out?" he asked her, something both wary and weary on his face. Marie cleared her throat, taking in the unpleasant taste on her tongue and nodded. Stein set both cups on some nearby table and rustled the blankets she was underneath so they exposed the hospital gown. It was a struggle for her to sit up enough, but she clamped down on any noises of pain.

Stein just looked so shattered already, she didn't want anything to make him worse.

He brought the cup to her lips and tipped it, barely, his other hand splayed on her semi-exposed upper-back. "Don't swallow it, just... just swish it around," he told her, and she followed the instruction though she desperately wanted a drink.

When she finished swirling the water around her mouth, she lifted her gaze to his with the question of where she should spit. The ghost of amusement played over his scruffy face. "Just spit back in the cup, Marie."

She wrinkled her nose, her cheeks puffed from the water, and he wanted to laugh.

Death, did he miss that feeling.

She figured they were done with inhibitions at this point. Her brain, in an effort to be funny, figured that they were even: she'd seen him shirtless and he'd seen the inside of her torso. The incision line ached dully.

So she spat in the cup, feeling more than a little gross when some of the water went down her chin instead. She huffed, twisting up her face and Stein's hand left her back so he could get up and throw the used water down the sink. He disposed of his gloves after grabbing some gauze to mop up what she'd spilled over her face.

She felt like a baby, so she decided to pout like one, and Stein shook his head after he tossed the used gauze as well. Carefully, he reached for the cup of ice chips and hesitated again. He looked annoyed, at her or himself, she didn't know, but she waited. He set the cup down so he had a hand to support her back with and took one chip out. When he put it on Marie's lips she almost jolted at the cold, but welcomed the bit of moisture.

"How is the pain?" he asked, ready to get another vial of morphine. It felt so foreign, to ask that.

She opened her mouth and took the ice in, feeling it melt and slide down her throat, sweet, blissful moisture. "Bearable," she replied, thankful that her voice wasn't as croaky anymore.

Stein nodded, his eyelids drooped as he repeated the process with the ice.

She looked him over, opening her mouth to accept the morsel. Her brow wrinkled in concern.

"Franken..."

"You should lie down soon. You'll pull your stitches."

Marie ignored him. "Franken, how long have I been out?"

He looked at her, removing his hand from her back and letting the ice chip he'd grabbed melt in his fingers. He licked his lower lip. "A few days. Weeks. You had an incident where you almost flat-lined early on, I thought it best to keep you sedated to alleviate any bodily stress so you could heal."

Once he started, he didn't think he could stop. Just nervous ramblings. But he knew this: it was medical, it was science, and he was so absolutely a doctor. He needed that, now. Because he wasn't sure what else he was, which face he was wearing today. "I took you off the oxygen a few days ago. You had pulmonary edema, evident by the severe hemoptysis. Your body... _you_ suffered from some bad internal bleeding, mostly gastrointestinal, especially after your cardiopulmonary arrest and-"

"Franken," Marie interrupted. "How many days... weeks have I been out?"

There was something haunted in his eyes, jerky. "Thirteen days."

When her wavelength flared up in her, it hurt. It ached like nothing ever ached before but she didn't care. Had he gone all that time without proper sleep? Nutrition?

And what of the nightmares? He'd been under the Sandman's influence back in that battle, did he mean to tell her that for almost two weeks he was left without the power of something soothing? She didn't want to attribute too much power to herself, he survived without her before. But he was her partner, she... _Death_ , she loved him. She adored him with each fiber of herself and the thought of him, fighting those demons that wore his skin and convinced him they were his reflection, all alone, burned worse than anything else.

Her job was to keep him from this, and she was the one who led him to it.

He jerked back from her. "Marie, you've gone through significant trauma, you shouldn't-"

"Be quiet!" she demanded and her hands flashed out and pressed to his neck, one of them trailing up over his scratchy jaw.

And he was selfish. He was so damn selfish and greedy but he wanted to sob in absolute gratitude when her palms brushed against him. He wanted more than that. Just a touch, something so flimsy, and he was reduced to such crippling want.

His own hands came up and covered hers; pushing them further against his skin and he slumped, boneless, bowing his head down. Gently, ever so gently, Marie tugged on his spent body and pressed his face into the crook of her neck. He moaned softly when her glowing skin connected with his forehead, and she fought through all the pain so she could turn her head and stress her neck, setting her golden lips right where his bolt met his skull. How easily he yielded to her, melted to her grasp.

She carefully worked her hands out from under his own to stroke the back of his neck and she pressed her cheek to his scalp, let her fingers run down into his collar, just barely. It was almost too affectionate for Stein, too chaste.

He felt foolishly, idiotically, overwhelmingly _happy_.

His hands came around her, careful of her stitches, her wounds, her incisions, to settle flat against the bare flesh of her back where the flimsy hospital gown gaped open. It was better for him to touch her since she had so much more of herself exposed than he did, but he was always so reluctant.

Wasn't that forever the case with them, in many ways?

"Oh, Franken," she whispered in his ear, tugging on him so he stumbled onto the bed, thankfully, on the side opposite of the IV line. "You don't have to be alone."

She felt his hot breath on her collarbone. "Marie, you're still healing. You aren't allowed to have anyone else on your bed-"

"I'm here, Franken."

And that was all it took. He felt weak for submitting to her so easily, but it was that echo of what he had told her. Hearing it said back to him just made his pride shrivel, all his walls demolished.

"I know," he replied, clutching her a little harder.

"I'm here. I'm here. You can sleep. You can relax," she assured, biting on her tongue as she lowered herself down onto the pillows, scooting and adjusting for his more massive form to cradle him against her, to her. The pain radiated and engulfed her, spine to belly.

It was because she knew him, because he finally felt, for once, for the first time in what felt too long, safe. He listened.

It was dreamless. He welcomed it with open arms.

* * *

She nuzzled her nose into his hair, her fingers combing it off of his face, all of her emitting light and calm into him when Spirit walked in, hands in his pockets and a grateful look.

"Good to see you awake, Marie."

She smiled, not letting up her ministrations. "It's good to be awake."

"Eh, I doubt that," Spirit said, well aware of how much pain she was in. "Do you want me to get a nurse for some more painkiller?"

Marie looked down at Stein's form, vulnerable once again, and shook her head no. It would just knock her out. "I'm alright. I want to be awake. I hear I've been a bit of a Sleeping Beauty, recently."

"Sleeping, maybe," Spirit began, grinning, "But a beauty you ain't. You're bruised to kingdom come."

"So I'm a colourful Sleeping Beauty. They fought over whether the dress should be pink or blue, right? Well, I'm wearing the combo. Just on my face."

Spirit's look grew fond. "I'm glad you're okay, Marie."

"What, you thought that was enough to end me?" she teased, her fingers looping a strand of Stein's hair round and round.

"Yes," Spirit told her, blatantly. "Honestly, it was enough to end anyone."

She sobered quickly, her hands halting. "Stein started talking about it but it was all medical jargon... how bad was it, Spirit?"

"Honestly?" the redhead asked, waiting until she nodded. "You practically went through a meat grinder. What I could get out of all the medi-talk was that Izuna ruined your heartbeat. Took you off-kilter, I guess. Went into a heart attack and everything. Stein had to start your heart up again so you have some nasty electrical burns on your chest."

Marie's voice was small. "Was that it?"

"No... there was the damage you took from the Kishin egg. Had to pop your shoulder back in and open you up from how bad your internal bleeding was. Your lungs filled up, too. We... he didn't think you were gonna make it."

"How did I?" Marie asked, staring at her friend.

Spirit fidgeted. "Well, it helped that you had the leading Death Scythe anatomy expert taking care of you. Five years, remember?"

Marie remembered back to how Stein used to cut Spirit up. She never thought it would bloom to something that saved her life. Though that didn't explain how restless Spirit got.

"Is there... something you aren't telling me? Was Stein hurt?" she asked, her eye immediately combing over her partner's curled form.

"Not from the fight," Spirit placated. "You did your duty as his weapon. Not a scratch."

Marie looked back at him. "Not from the fight? Then from what? What happened?"

"Your... you were still resonating when you started going under."

Her eye widened. Something hitched in her chest. "What?"

"Stein had to... cover your soul. I don't really get it, honestly. What I could get was that he covered your soul up, wouldn't let you go."

"But-"

"Please, Marie. It couldn't be helped. You were dying. He'd die too, if you did. You were still linked. He can't survive if he's in resonance with a departed soul, you know that."

Marie flinched, unconsciously bringing Stein closer to her. Spirit was starting to wonder if the other man could even breathe, what with his face pressed into the woman's flesh.

"He's probably lost some years," Spirit told her, and her face pinched the same way his did when he found out about the danger.

"I'd never want that," she told him in a watery voice.

"No, I know." He waited for a minute, just standing there, watching as Marie composed herself. He contemplated a joke about how Stein should certainly quit smoking, but he figured it might be insensitive. And he was going to offer up the painkiller again, but figured the stubborn hammer would rather remain awake all night, straining herself to keep her wavelength steady just to make sure Stein got his first night of actual sleep in two weeks. He originally stepped in to get the other half of the mission report from Marie, but considering she was busy with something, someone else, he wanted to give her some down-time before she had to relive it. Spirit smiled.

"Do you want me to just turn on the TV? There's a marathon of Disney movies on one of the channels. They always have it running here for the kids."

Marie nodded. "Yeah, that would be great. Thank you. Could you... call a nurse in? I wanna get these tubes out of me."

"No problem." Spirit grinned tiredly, though it was strained, and snatched up the remote from the side of the room to bring it over to her. He had to set it next to her side as opposed to in her hands, since they were still a little occupied.

"Want me to get another blanket?" he asked.

"No, thank you. I think we're fine with just the one."

"Alright," Spirit replied, walking to the television and turning it on. Over the low volume, as he was stepping out of the room, he turned his head to look at her. His voice was serious when it rung out.

"Marie... it's the closest thing to a confession you're ever going to get from him," he told her, and Marie froze all her motions.

"What?"

She could only make out half of Spirit's face, his conflicted but encouraging expression.

"He lost a couple of years, Marie. You probably wanna hurry up." With that, he closed the door behind him and left them alone.

* * *

Stein woke to her singing. There were no nightmares, no furious irises, no mask he thought he was wearing when he opened his eyes. Stein's vision was hazy but Marie was close enough to him that he didn't need the corrective lenses to see her still-radiating form.

"I know you; I walked with you once upon a dream. I know you, the gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam," she sang, soft as she could as though not to wake him. Her fingers were tracing the scar on his face, moving in time with the music around the room.

Someone must have turned on the television.

"Marie," he said, amazed that she was still awake, still using her wavelength. She turned her head down to look at him. Sometime while he was sleeping, she had shifted so she was sitting; propped on so many pillows he was sure the staff had to raid other people's homes. His head was resting in one of her thighs as opposed to her shoulder.

"Good morning, Franken."

"Is it?" he asked, and it must have been because his voice was hoarse and scratchy.

"Yes," she answered, simply, still tracing his face.

"Marie-" he began again, dreading having to leave the gentle lull of her presence, but knowing she needed rest. He'd used up an entire night, one where she chose to remain awake without anything to ease her pain. He noticed that she wasn't on her drip, the machines unhooked.

But she cut him off with her singing, swaying to the waltz of the song.

They were resonating again. It must have been instinctual on his part, just to latch onto her soul when she extended it. Whether he did it in his sleep or when he was hazy upon waking, he couldn't pinpoint. But he could make out the knowledge of her gaze.

She knew. And he knew.

So what now?

Everything about her was warmth and acceptance. And her face was moving closer to his, but stopped, waiting for confirmation. It was sink or swim for him. His elbows sunk into the hospital mattress on either side of her thighs and he lifted his upper body, as though to leave. She remained still for him, waiting, watching him.

He _could_ leave. He could come off the bed and pretend it hadn't happened and push the scenario aside and keep dancing around her.

But what was the point of that now? It was one thing when only he knew, a different thing if she understood how mutual it was, had been. Is.

He hears the mortality rate for their line of work isn't the best. Maybe it was time to acknowledge that.

So he smiles at her, moving up and forward until their lips were barely a hair's breadth away.

Marie moved first, slowly setting her mouth onto his and he slid his hand to the back of her head, supporting himself on a singular arm, his neck twisting. But his calloused fingers were touching her, stroking over the shell of her ear and Marie's palms met his jaw: familiar motions. Yet new, effortless.

He opened his mouth to her.

He let her in.

* * *

 **Massive thanks go out to my Betas Jcrycolr3wradcse and Crimson-Lia, who not only put up with my constant whining, but also made this fic so much better than it originally was! I have fought with this fic from the very beginning of resbang: It was the first one I wrote and the first one I finished. And now, here it is! Published! And it's all thanks to them!**

 **Thank you so much for reading!**

 **And thank you to my incredible, crazy talented partner, Olishia, who blew me away with her fabulous art! She is reponsible for the excellent cover art, and the link to MORE art for prone can be found at olishia dot tumblr** **(dotcom) /post/134583342770/heres-my-part-of-resbang-2015-prone-written**

 **She's phenomenal!**


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